Laughter is the best cure
by gibbsheroic27
Summary: That war really messed up both of them, Charlie can't help but think. It's okay though, it messed up the entire world after all.


Charlie wishes they gave a class on how to interview suspects. Really, he doesn't care who gives it or how far away it is, he'd be there in a second. He might even rope Blake into helping teach it.

He could apparently use all the help he could get he reflects, coming out of his latest round of asking if anyone saw a man wearing nothing but a flag and carrying a bloody knife running down main street at noon.

It's a Friday, and apparently the entire world is blind. Or just really bloody dense.

Charlie doesn't have much other explanation for why he just came away from talking to a gaggle of older ladies with three reports of a suspicious looking goat, two tales about their handkerchiefs being stolen, and an apple pie recipe.

Charlie is mentally wondering where he might be able to find apples this time of year, because Jean's birthday is coming up after all and she's always seemed partial to his pies when a hand lands on his shoulder. "Alright there Charlie?"

He doesn't jump. It's taken a lot of practice, his Blake proof reflexes, but Charlie's rather proud of the results. He can't help the grin. "As fine as the last time you asked, thanks doc."

It helps that they drove here together. Blake is grinning back cheekily. Latest round of Charlie flustering, point to Lucien Blake.

Charlie's uniform buttons catch the sun. Oh, right, work.

"Any luck doc?" Maybe the other side of the street had a better vantage point. Or more brain cells. Charlie really isn't picky.

An ironic grin flashes across Blake's face. "Well, I can report that either the man didn't come this way, or the entire town needs to be fitted for glasses. Would be good for business at least I suppose." Charlie attempts to smother his grin in his hat, nearly missing the doc's waving hand.

"Also, someone gave me this lovely pie recipe." The doc scrutinizes a small square of card with a squint. "Pity it's the wrong season for peaches." The card is tucked into a pocket.

"What about you Charlie, how did it g-" Charlie holds up his own card, a rueful grin accompanying it. Blake's laugh is slightly incredulous, more a ha than a haha, his hand clapping Charlie's back playfully.

Charlie situates his hat back on his head, grin still firmly in place. "We're getting worse at this, aren't we doc." They're still stifling fits of laughter when they reach the station.

The pie card ladies turn out of have hidden the mad flag runner under their car, the entire thing a stunt to distract from the peach pie lady attempting to steal her pension check from her ex-husband.

The knife was as fake as the blood, but Lawson holds them all for a few hours just to make sure they've learned their lesson.

He lets them the entire lot go complete with flag and liberated pension check, courtesy of police confiscation from the ex, so Charlie isn't sure what lesson that is supposed to be.

They do keep the knife though.

Apple pie lady stops by Charlie on the way out of the interview room, her shrewd eyes flicking from Charlie to the doc conversing animatedly with a bored looking Hobart at the end of the hall. Charlie thinks he heard the word peaches float by a moment earlier. He suppresses another grin. This is getting worryingly like a habit.

No one that old should look at sharp. "It's nice to see you boys working together, you and your father."

Charlie feels his jaw drop slightly, following her gaze back to the doc. He opens his mouth to correct, to deny, to say his father drowned in the Pacific back in '43 and what does she know anyway. She beats him to it. "You remind me of my boys. They adored their father too."

Charlie is torn between still correcting this entire rather odd conversation, and wondering what it says about her sons that they liked a man who steals pension checks from old ladies who hand out pie recipes to police officers.

"They died in the war, all three of them. My Max first, then our Billy, and finally our Charlie. Roger seemed like a better option than a bullet, at the time."

An image hovers at the back of Charlie's mind, him and Blake criss-crossing the high street, the doc's excitedly shouted "alright there Charlie's" accompanied by exchanged grins, breathless laughter, Charlie bumping Blake's shoulder, receiving a shoulder pat in return.

Jean and Lucien finally got married last month, and Charlie finally has a key of his own, and the room he sleeps in has become Charlie's room in conversation, rather than my father's old room.

Charlie's eyes wander down the corridor again, his jaw clicking shut. Apple pie lady simply watches.

He swallows hard. Remembers flag man's frantic struggles when he saw his aunts were being detained.

"I'm sorry for your loss ma'am." It's wrote, it's paltry, it's everything he's ever been told to say. Everything a class would tell him to say.

Her smile is sad, bittersweet. "And I'm sorry for your's young man." Maybe he didn't have to say anything after all.

She looks back at the doc one last time, who seems to have roped Lawson into the fruit acquisition plans. Charlie tastes pies in their future. "You look after each other now, you hear." Her voice has only the slightest quaver in it.

Charlie lost his father in the war. Blake lost his wife, his child, his home, nearly his sanity. The world is a mess, and everyone in it is messy and loud and broken.

The doc starts towards them, wheeling slightly back to toss a hurried "Oh and Matthew, we're also going to need a bushel of pears" back at Lawson, who manages to both roll his eyes and look fond at the same time. Charlie huffs out a breath.

The world is a mess, but at least there's pie.

He looks back at apple pie lady, who's wicked gleam is back in her eye. It suits her. "I'll do my very best ma'am." For someone so old, she has a lovely laugh.

Blake reaches them just as he's getting tackled by two old ladies with what looks like muffin recipes and a man who has thankfully at least put some clothes on under his flag, his latest "Alright there Charlie?" more amused than worried.

The world is a mess, but Charlie will always be grateful that somewhere in that mess, he found his way to Lucien Blake's doorstep.

Because the world is a mess, but if anyone can fix it, it would be the doc. Charlie gives up on trying very hard not to hug the suspects, a grin finding it's way across his once serious face.

 _It wouldn't hurt you to smile once in a while you know._

For the first time in a long time, he thinks that might just be true. "Never better doc."

Lawson's shout echoes off the walls. "Davis, Blake. Stop hugging the suspects!"

Peach pie lady levels a glare down the hall that could have leveled a building. Charlie makes no move to hide his laughter.

It feels wonderful.

DBDBDBDB

It's the swamp this time, sucking mud, thick reeds, quacking disgruntled ducks and all.

Charlie did not fall in, thank you very much. He was tossed in by a suspect, hands bound and head wringing. He's barely had time to shake his vision clear when the mud rushes in to welcome its latest potential victim.

It's made it up to his neck before Charlie hears shouts on the bank, all of five feet and a hundred miles away. Something quacks suspiciously close to his ear.

Charlie hates ducks.

Being pulled out by Hobart is rather humiliating, although he at least carries a convenient pocket knife that makes short work of the ropes, mud and all.

Charlie is still swiveling his head back towards the water when a rug engulfs his shoulders, because the Doc was with him before all this and he doesn't know what-

The rug is attached to someone, the rumbled, fading blonde hair matted against one side of the man's head with still drying blood, the arms shaking slightly as they pat Charlie's blanket.

Charlie feels the grin begin to split his face. "Bloody hell Doc, I thought we'd lost you."

Lucien looks faintly incredulous. "Me?! You're the one who got yourself thrown in the bloody swamp Charlie!" There's humour in there somewhere, and familiarity, and probably not a small amount of residual fear. There's also love.

Charlie doesn't hesitate. He figures maybe he's spent enough time doing that. He simply lunges.

Tackle hugging someone with a rug on is unsurprisingly difficult. The drying swamp guck doesn't help much either.

The Doc meets him the middle, his arms find their way around Charlie's shoulders to press him firmly against his shaking chest. Charlie shuts his mouth against the choking sob, swallowing an unpalatable mix of blood and swamp as he does so.

Wheezing past a cough, his teeth gritty with things he'd rather not think about, Charlie can't help having the last word.

"For the record Doc, while I don't know about water, I can definitely say that it's surprisingly easy to almost drown yourself in three feet of swamp."

A shaking hand clasps his wet cheek, a huffed "Oh Charlie!" sounds as warm and safe as it ever has.

Their laughter wafts out over the swamp together, the ducks joining in the chorus.

They're a mess, mud and blood and fear, and Jean is probably going to murder them anyway when she sees the state of their clothes. Lawson is probably going to quit on his first day back just on principle.

Grin hidden in Blake's shoulder, a Hobart issued rug being roughly thrust over them both, Charlie finds himself looking forward to every mess, beautiful moment of it.


End file.
